


put your head on my shoulder

by Darling_Pretty



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, because steve rogers deserves a break, mostly it's just a lot of cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 11:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19828981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darling_Pretty/pseuds/Darling_Pretty
Summary: Steve is back and he's not exactly forthcoming with details. (It drives Peggy nuts.)





	put your head on my shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Just barely squeaked this in for Day 1 of Steggy Week 2019! It's Endgame and I figured why not give Steve everything he wants in life?

If it weren’t happening to her, Peggy would write it off as the most horrendously egregious work of science fiction.

Unfortunately—and _so_ fortunately—it _is_ happening to her. Steve Rogers in the flesh, back from the future. Earnestly offering her a rusted compass as proof, as though she wouldn’t believe anything less. Peggy appreciates the gesture, but no Hydra clone would look so tired, so hopeful. And they certainly wouldn’t have crow’s feet.

His compass is heavy and cool in her palm; she’d forgotten how solidly built it is. When she looks up, Peggy expects him to be anxious, stammering. She expects him to be the talkative boy from the car on the way to his serum injection. Instead, Steve is calm, as though resigned to whatever she might be willing to dish out.

That convinces her more than anything so far; he’s a man now, and he is tired.

Peggy reaches up slowly. Her hand hesitates and Steve nearly flinches. She wonders if he thinks she might slap him. Instead, she touches his cheek. His wonderfully _solid_ cheek.

“My _darling_ ,” Peggy whispers.

She’s in his arms in moments.

. . .

He’s at war with himself, she thinks. Peggy’s managed to exhaust him; they’d certainly wasted no time in their reunion. But then, they’ve rather earned it, haven’t they?

Steve Rogers is naked in her bed, fast asleep. It still feels entirely unreal, no matter that she’s deliciously sore, that she’ll need to cover several love bites in the morning.

He sleeps soundly most of the night, but she still feels the need to sit watch. There are moments he tosses and turns, reaches out for something. She’s not sure if it’s her, but he seems to calm when she takes his hand. He’s most peaceful if his head is pillowed on her breast.

She hardly sleeps a wink that first night but it’s worth it to know he’s there and safe.

And she loses her breath when she sees the smile on his face as he wakes.

. . .

The war in his head rages on. She knows he must be debating what to tell her, what to share. It seems to be an immense burden, one she wishes she could help shoulder though he won’t allow her.

Most days, he’s her Steve, charming and caring, studious and loving. He spends his days doing projects around the house, uncomplaining that they still haven’t come up with a solution to allow him to walk freely. “We’ll figure it out,” he promises, kissing her palm and grinning at her whenever she brings it up. “I don’t mind. It’s nice to rest.”

She wonders just what he needs to rest from.

There are times that Peggy looks up and Steve seems lost to his thoughts. On more than one occasion, she’s found that his reverie is so strong she can hardly break it. He looks haunted in those moments, thinking of something too terrible or too life-altering to share.

She could shake him in those moments. Consequences be damned, she wants to help him. But he staunchly refuses, insisting that he’s already changed too much by coming back.

They have a huge row over it. Well, _Peggy_ has a huge row over it. Steve mostly just stands and refuses to give in, all while staying infuriatingly calm.

“You’ve already _changed_ something!” she insists, aware at how shrill her voice is becoming. “Just _tell_ me, Steve.”

For a moment, it looks as though he might break. But then he shakes his head.

Peggy throws her book at the wall. It’s not as satisfying as she’d hoped. “ _You_ chose to come back,” she reminds him. “You came back. I’m your partner, Steve. That means sharing more than a bed.”

He won’t look at her. She leaves then, going for a walk until she’s not shaking with anger.

. . .

She makes him sleep on the couch. He does, but Peggy wakes sometime after midnight when the bed shifts. Steve curves his body around hers and she stiffens, still angry.

“Peg?” he whispers.

She makes a noncommittal noise, unwilling to budge.

Steve’s silent for a while. She can nearly hear him thinking, arguing with himself as usual, no doubt.

Peggy doesn’t say anything. She’s still angry and not about to make his life any easier in the moment.

“I carried your casket,” he whispers and Peggy’s heart stops.

She supposes it’s not exactly a revelation. In fact, it’s rather safe on the whole. One could hardly expect to live past 100. But she aches for him nonetheless and turns her face to him. There’s tears in his eyes and a lump grows in Peggy’s throat in answer.

He’s looking at her but he’s got that look in his eye again, living through a scene she can’t see, can’t beat into submission. Instead, she turns her body, reaching up to touch his cheek softly. “I’m right here, my darling,” Peggy promises and Steve surges forward to wrap her in his arms, face buried in her hair.

She’s hot as the seventh circle of hell by the time she drifts off to sleep, but she’d never trade it for the world.

. . .

Information slips out slowly, accidentally really. He tries his best not to interfere, tries his best to hide his knowledge. She’s begun to predict when his gaze will suddenly turn towards the ceiling and his jaw will clench, as though holding his mouth shut will somehow contained the information within.

She learns to live with it; she doesn’t love it, but then one can get used to anything.

It’s the nightmares that frighten her. She feels him stiffen. Sometimes she doesn’t wake until after, only coming to as he climbs from the bed to shut himself in the den. Peggy tries to give him privacy. She really tries.

But there’s only so much a woman can take and he’s been back nearly two months when she follows him without knocking.

Peggy has seen Steve cry before. But not like this. Not with abandon. She comes to stand between his legs, hands on his shoulders. It might be wishful thinking but he seems some measure looser with her there.

Her hands drift, cupping his face, holding him still so she can press soft kisses to tear-stained cheeks. She worries he regrets it, that she’s not enough. But even in the dark she sees that the only light in his eyes lights when he looks at her.

“Tell me, Steve,” she pleads.

He takes a deep breath.

. . .

They talk for three hours, falling into bed as the sun rises. Peggy’s head spins with it all. Time travel, aliens, gods…

He cries when he tells her of his team. His _friends_. At another time, she might feel a thread of jealousy as he talks about this Natasha, of the way he recalls teary smiles over peanut butter and jelly. Instead, she cards fingers through his hair and is thankful he’d found someone to support him. She’s not religious but she says a small prayer for a woman she’s never met, whose sacrifice meant _everything_.

Peggy cries with him when he tells her of Howard’s son. _Tony_. Somehow Howard Stark having a child is the strangest part of it all.

She’s rather wrung out by the time Steve mentions Bucky, dazed by the sudden influx of information and late hour.

“It’s too much,” Steve says, now his turn to reach for her. He’s worried. She knows by the wrinkle in his brow.

Peggy shakes her head. “For you? Never too much.”

He stands and maybe it’s just that she’s exhausted but she swears he looks ten pounds lighter. “Let’s go to bed, Peg,” he murmurs, mouth pressed to the top of her head. She can’t say she wants to argue.

. . .

She sleeps for another three hours, having a lie-in later than she’d ever allow herself normally. Steve insists that he hadn’t touched her alarm clock, that she simply never set it; Peggy suspects him of lying, but she’s spread across his chest, late morning sunlight streaming through the window, and she’s not inclined to argue.

There’s still so much to think about, so much to talk about. She certainly hasn’t processed everything, but Steve’s fingers drift up and down her spine and that takes precedence. She looks up, chin resting on his chest. Peggy’s spent hours looking at his face by now but she’s struck by how _old_ he is. She’s had four years to mourn. He’s had near eleven.

The thought halts her for a moment, hurts her brain to think of it that way. “So, in _theory_ ,” Peggy says. Steve groans softly. “You’re asleep somewhere in the Arctic.”

If she weren’t so well-versed in Steve’s face by now she might miss the sadness or trepidation that flitted across it.

“Yes,” he says slowly. Peggy frowns. He stays open, lying on his back and just waiting for her. Peggy stays quiet, unsure where she wants to go in this conversation.

Steve sits up, pulling her with them so they’re talking face-to-face. She’s not sure she can look at him.

“You want to go find him.” One of Steve’s myriad of talents is his ability to cut to the heart of things.

It takes a moment but she manages to look up, steeling herself to find him disappointed or hurt. But he just looks thoughtful. _Damn him_. Peggy’s head bobs slightly. She’s ashamed to answer with him looking at her right there, to tell her lover that she wants to chase after another man, even if it is him.

Steve pushes her hair behind her ear before tracing her jaw. He doesn’t tilt her face to look at him but he stays close. “When I woke up,” he says with a sigh. “I would have given _anything_ to have you back. I found you-”

“I must have been very old.”

“Yeah, but that didn’t matter. Not to me anyway. I needed _you_ there. Needed your advice. But there was never a day that went by that I didn’t think to myself that I’d give it all back, every last drop of the serum, if I could just have _you_. The you I remembered back.”

Peggy’s quiet, blood running cold at the thought of this man lonely and desperate.

“I got it back, Peg. I got _you_ back, just like I remembered. But you… you didn’t get that. You didn’t get that kid who went into the ice back. I’d want him back too. ‘s not fair to you.”

He’s tired; he has to be. He’s been through so much. But he’s grown too; he’s changed. He’s a man comfortable in her bed, a loving and supportive partner. They’ve _gotten_ their dance. They have a life or, rather, the start of one.

Finally she manages to look up. Dark eyes make contact with his blues and she traces just when the silver is beginning to thread through his hair at his temples. She’s rather worried he stops breathing.

“I _hate_ the thought of you alone,” she whispers.

“Didn’t love it so much myself,” Steve replies carefully. “But I’m here with you now.”

It’s Peggy’s turn to cry then, big, heaving sobs, indulgent in a way she’s never allowed herself. Steve, to his credit, gathers her into his arms and holds her silently, no shushing, no entreaties to stop. He just lets her cry as long as she wants.

When she’s finally wrung out, she’s got a throbbing headache and Steve’s lips against her hair.

“I love you, Peggy.” It’s whispered, hardly loud enough for her to hear. She turns to look at him and he looks so very tired. “I have since the very beginning and I love you more now.”

It’ll haunt her dreams for a while, the thought of Steve frozen and alive, but she can’t regret anything that’s brought him back to her. Can’t be upset when she has him there.

It’s enough. _He’s_ enough.

. . .

It isn’t until they’re eating lunch that afternoon that Peggy really manages to absorb what he’s said. The fork she’s holding clatters to the floor and Steve looks up with that little wrinkle in his brow that means he’s worried.

“Bucky’s alive.”

“Yes.”

“He’s _alive_.” It’s as if she’s looking at a stranger. He’s been home for _months_ now. Months, knowing Bucky’s alive. Suffering. When they’ve means to save him. “Steve-”

“I can’t,” he begins to say, but Peggy cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

“Bull _shit_.”

“Peg-”

“That is absolute rubbish and you know it. We are not going to sit idly by and allow Barnes to follow the same damn path when from what you’ve said you’ve already derailed mine! We’re going to get him and that’s final, Steve Rogers.”

She’d thought his love for her would never show on his face more than that first moment he’d come back, but this moment is certainly giving her a contender.


End file.
